For the man, it was just another night full of dreams.
They were so regular, so insistent, that it became quite a normal occurrence to wake up with a head full of them still buzzing around. Dreams about power. Power over others. There were lots of people he didn’t like, several groups of them, in fact. People that he considered to be inferior. He had explained all this in his book. He could do much more than just write about it; so much more. Let’s face it, he wanted the top job. He knew he could make a difference. He could sweep the place clean. There had been a number of electoral victories of late. Maybe the time was right. Maybe his time was right.
In the bathroom, he stood giving extra attention to the small moustache beneath his nose.
He paused, looking at himself in the mirror.
“I have an idea,” he murmured.